


Down a Winding Stair

by AnaliseGrey



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: c02e081 From Door to Door, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: What if Caleb hadn't managed to dodge that mage-hunter golem?
Comments: 20
Kudos: 164





	Down a Winding Stair

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Mikkeneko who had the galaxy brain to point out there was a very sad lack of fics dealing with Caleb in the aftermath of that Silencing collar situation in c2:e81.
> 
> A dire oversight indeed.

Caleb’s heart is already pounding in his chest, fit near to burst when the golem catches up with them. Everything they’ve thrown at it has failed; the only option left to them is to flee.

He looks over Fjord’s shoulder, sees the immense gears turning ponderously in front of them, and his stomach twists in apprehension. What chance do they even have? Fjord’s gotten stronger thanks to his new deity, but that doesn’t make him capable of getting them both up and over the gears faster than the golem can move.

He’s always known there would come a point where he’d have to make a decision like this; if it wasn’t Ikithon, if it wasn’t the Assembly, it would be something else. 

And he’s always known what his decision would be.

He lets go of Fjord, sliding down off his back to land on the narrow walkway. His boots barely make a sound as he lands, any noise lost under the heavy tread of the golem as it approaches. He has the barest moment to see Fjord start to turn, face confused and pinched with worry, when Fjord’s expression changes to one of horror.

Caleb doesn’t bother to turn around, doesn’t want to see, but he can’t help the sharp intake of breath as cold metal clamps around his neck with a sharp click, can’t stop his hands from coming up to grab at it, to pull frantically.

It doesn’t give, and he finds himself stumbling to his knees as the collar around his neck detaches from the hold the golem has on it. Fjord is still looking at him, panicked and stricken, and Caleb tries to tell him to run, to _ go_, but no sound comes out, and his blood turns to ice in his veins as he realizes he’s been Silenced.

Stumbling to his feet, Caleb has just long enough to shove Fjord forward before a bruising metal grip finds his arms, hauling him backward. He makes no sound as he’s pulled back forcefully enough that his feet leave the ground. Fjord yells his name, makes a grab for him, but isn’t fast enough. It takes a moment for Caleb to realize that he isn’t just being tugged backwards, but _carried_ _off_. Fjord gives chase, but with the golem’s boots granting it flight, he has no chance, and Caleb knows it. 

He wonders if this is it, if this is how he dies. Not at the hands of the man whose memory has terrorized him for years, not at the hands of a former classmate, or other agent of the Empire, but at the hands of a mindless golem in a magic ball designed to destroy people like him.

But he’d thought he was different, hadn’t he? Someday he’ll learn that mindset- that _ arrogance_\- means nothing but suffering, though at this point it might be too late to learn that lesson in anything other than a ruthlessly-permanent fashion.

He struggles against the golem’s hold, even knowing that to get free would mean almost certain death, but he’s no match for the golem’s unforgiving grip. They pass through a number of doorways, and he tries to pay attention, but panic and sheer animal terror make the world around him hazy. They end up in a room with a devil who howls madly at him as they pass, and through another door onto a staircase. There are no visible walls, and in the darkness around him, he thinks he sees the twinkling of stars. The air is thick with something like dust, and through the panic something clicks in his mind- this must be the Prison of Soot.

They descend, coming to a room where another of the golems looms overhead, though apparently dormant. Another staircase, another descent, and at the bottom the golem finally sets him down on the ground. His knees buckle, but before he can scramble away the golem is reaching for him again, catching his wrists in one large mechanical hand. It makes quick work of his coat, not bothering to carefully remove it but ripping it straight off, the sound of rending fabric loud in the near-silence of the prison. Even knowing the collar won’t let him speak, he can’t stop the indignant shout as the golem goes for his component pouch, his book holsters, efficiently removing them and tossing them aside. The flood of panic as it takes his necklace is debilitating, maddening, and he finds himself thrashing helplessly, desperately trying to get his hands free to stop it, but he has no more success than he’s had stopping the golem in any of its other actions. The delicate chain the necklace is on gives way with a sharp tug and is tossed aside to land on his books and roll off with a gentle _ tink_. He thinks he might be hyperventilating, but it occurs to him it could be the effects of the dust in the air as well. Even though the collar has effectively silenced him, the moment he tries to shout the so-far near invisible cloud of dust in the air coalesces around him into a thickened, choking cloud until he’s hacking, trying to breathe, to dislodge the contaminants that make him cough and wheeze. By the time he regains control of his lungs they’re moving again, his feet barely touching the floor as the golem moves him along.

They’re passing cells as they head further down. It’s hard to see easily into them but from the brief glimpse he catches of the first pair of cells on the third level down, his chances for getting out of here aren’t looking good. The bodies he sees- for that’s what they must be with the visible bone amidst the tattered clothing- have been here for far longer than he’ll survive on his own. They continue on, and on the fourth level down he thinks he sees Yussah, collared just like he is, glancing up as they’re passing by. Their gaze meets briefly, Yussah pale, dirtied, eyes widening in surprise, but that’s all Caleb manages to see before he’s whisked off and down to a fifth level. The golem throws him in a cell and locks the door behind him before turning around and heading back up. There are Ever-burning torches on the walls, just bright enough he can tell there’s nothing in the open cell across the room. It’s minor comfort to know he’s not sharing the space with a body, but it also means he’s completely alone down here.

Not one to let things be, he approaches the bars of the cell, makes note of the runes inscribed there, no doubt meant to make sure he stays securely on this side of things. He reaches a hand to lightly touch one of the runes and yanks his hand back with a sharp hiss as the rune lights up, singeing his fingertips. Absently sticking them in his mouth he sucks on them until the sting subsides, and looks around. The cell he’s in is sparse, a chamber pot to one side and a shelf seemingly built out of the wall with a thin mattress and blanket on it the only things standing out. It hits him, all of a sudden, just how helpless he is, how utterly trapped. He can’t cast, he can’t call for help, and has no tools to even try to escape on his own.

He’s stuck.

Moving to sit on the cot in the corner, he tries not to think that the mage who built this place has been missing or dead for time immemorial. He tries not to remember that one of the most powerful mages he knows is stuck here as well, one level above him, just as trapped and helpless as he is. He ignores his singed fingers, his bruised wrists, the unpleasant way the collar weighs on him, inevitable and inescapable. What he focuses on instead is his friends. They won’t leave him here, won’t leave him to die a slow and horrible death of deprivation. It may take them time, and it probably won’t be pleasant, but he knows they’re coming; he doesn’t let himself believe anything else.

Getting as comfortable as he can, Caleb curls up on the bed shelf, and settles in to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> _“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;_  
“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.  
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,  
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”  
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain,  
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”
> 
> -excerpt from The Spider and the Fly, by Mary Howitt


End file.
